Enigmatic Fangirl
by TheWondersOfWords
Summary: Scarlett Daniels is your average obsessive Sherlockian fangirl until one day she wakes up... and everything has changed. There is no Sherlock Holmes as she has always known him. No fictional character. The detective is real and so is the danger. What happens when she gets dragged into it?
1. Chapter 1

**HELLO! I am really very excited about writing this. I've written a few chapters already and I promise at least an update a week unless I absolutely can't. Sherlock doesn't actually appear in this chapter but HEY, if I get positive reviews in the next day or so then I shall post it ASAP. Please let me know what you think of this idea. Thanks!**

**. . .**

"Wakey-wakey, Scarlett! I know it's the summer holidays but that is no excuse to sleep till noon. Up you get! I'll put the toast on."

Scarlett Daniels groaned and pulled the covers right over her head, curling up into a ball of warmth and creating her own little bubble in which she hadn't a care in the world. She did not want to get up. There was absolutely NOTHING to do. Well, that was not entirely true as there is always something to do in London but everything just seemed to bore her lately. It was becoming an endless cycle of meaninglessness, was her life. She didn't see why she couldn't simply lie in bed all day, it wouldn't make any difference to the world, would it? She was merely a speck on this planet. Nobody would notice if she stayed curled up in this bubble all day.

Still, her mother was making her toast downstairs and she used that as motivation to pop her head out from under the duvet. Despite the dopey state of mind she was in, something immediately caught Scarlett's eye. Or rather... It didn't catch her eye.

Suddenly the duvet was thrown off and she was scanning the walls of her small bedroom. Where WERE they? Gone? What had happened to them?

Not tired anymore, more confused and slightly feather-ruffled, the seventeen year old began bounding down the stairs, looking much like a lioness looking for her lost cubs.

As expected, her mother was there in the kitchen, buttering some toast. Everything was normal and boring and the sound of the BBC news came flittering into her ears from the television in the corner.

"Mum, what have you done with my Sherlock stuff?"

The girl's mother frowned and looked up from the toast. She looked genuinely confused which was certainly not what Scarlett had been expecting. She had expected her to look guilty for moving the precious posters of her favourite tv show. The woman KNEW how obsessed her daughter was with it and how she could get lost in the world of Sherlock Holmes and his crime solving adventures. So, why did she look like she had never heard of it all before?

"Sherlock...? What's that then? You know that I would never touch your things, Scarlett. Ha. As if you would let me."

And her attention was back onto the toast.

Okay, now Scarlett was beyond confused. What the hell was going on? Some kind of large scale prank?

"Um. April's Fools Day has passed, mother. It's not funny. What have you done with my posters?"

The bronze-haired woman looked up from the toast again sharply, a glint of annoyance in her hazel eyes.

"Don't talk to me like that, young lady. I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Now, are you going to eat breakfast or should I not have even bothered?"

Scarlett was backing towards the stairs now. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Ignoring her mother's annoyed tone, she rushed into the living room to see her ten year old sister lying on the sofa, watching the telly.

Time to get some answers. Scarlett thought now that either she was dreaming or this was some kind of attempt to cease her obsession with the detective show. Yeah, like that was going to happen. It would take more than removing a few posters to achieve THAT.

"Rosie..? Wanna watch Sherlock with me later on?"

The girl's head turned to face her sister. She looked incredibly like Scarlett. Long, auburn hair that went down to her waist. A pretty smile and a cute button nose. The only thing that varied entirely was the eyes. Rosie's eyes were hazel, like their mothers, whereas Scarlett's were as blue as the sea.

"Is Sherlock a film? And if it IS a film... Does it have witches in? I really like witches. I think I am a witch, you know. We should play that, Scarlett! Witches, yes! Play witches with me?"

The puppy dog eyes were turned on as the young girl leaned over the sofa, pleading to her elder sister with every inch of her being.

Scarlett was far too distracted to be taken in by it though. There was a feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt like she was in some sort of awesome Doctor Who episode in which all mention and/or existence of the man, Sherlock Holmes, had been erased.

Silly as that sounded, she simply HAD to check. Taking the stairs two at a time, she allowed her imagination to run wild. So many 'what if' thoughts dancing through her mind, pirouetting into intricate ideas and theories. That was how her mind worked, you see. She was a dreamer. The question was... Is she dreaming NOW?

An hour was spent by the redhead on her computer, scouring the internet and draining it dry. Throughout her research the confusion had grown but... So had the excitement. It was not that there was no Sherlock Holmes in this... Dream, or whatever it was. Quite the opposite, actually. There WAS a Sherlock Holmes. Not a fictional one but a real one.

'The Science of Deduction' website was the first site Scarlett visited. Obviously, she had been on it before, as every fan of the show had. But this time was different. She had the option to post. Actually... Post and comment on the pages. As tempting as that was, she decided it was best not to. What the hell would she say.

'Hi, I'm dreaming and you're fictional but I'm a BIG FAN, HI HI HI!'

Ummmm, noooo. Let's not.

Then, of course, there was John's blog. That came as the biggest shock to Scarlett. The date of the latest post... August 1st 2014. She checked her phone TWICE after that to see what the date was today.

August 12th. That was expected, yes. Yesterday was the 11th and so today was the 12th but... Oh, we seemed to have skipped a year?

This was making her head throb. It didn't make sense. But that just made it intriguing.

Online newspaper articles took up the rest of Scarlett's time.

CONSULTING DETECTIVE BACK FROM THE DEAD.

#SHERLOCKLIVES TOP TREND ON TWITTER.

GENIUS DETECTIVE SURVIVED THE FALL.

She spent absolutely ages trying to found out HOW he had survived but it appeared to be all very hush-hush. Well, if this was indeed a dream, she supposed that her subconscious was so clueless that it just did not mention a how anywhere.

Nor was there any mention at all about the actors in the show. No Cumberbatch or Freeman or Scott or... anyone. No Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It was as if... well, it was as if she was actually IN the show itself. Yep. Definitely dreaming.

You're not supposed to be able to spot a dream whilst you are having it. It seems real, right? That's what Scarlett kept telling herself because this was all... So impossible. I mean, yes, she had imagined things like this before. Pictured meeting the man, attempting to play his violin and consequently being chucked out of the window. But this was very different. It felt vivid. She even pinched herself despite the cliche and it HURT.

[You cannot spot a dream whilst you are having it.]

That is why she eventually decided what she was going to do with her day. This was a dream and she was going to make the most of it.

Some sort of excuse was made about meeting some 'friend' in the city centre and going shopping was made to her mother and she was out of the house. Scarlett's mother was never one to refuse the suggestion of her daughter actually socialising rather than sitting in her room all day. Easy peasy.

The words that she had longed to say for a very long time now were on the tip of Scarlett's tongue as she slid into the cab.

"221B Baker Street, please."

**. . .**

**OOOO. So, Scarlett is one of us. A simple fangirl who dares to dream. But is this actually a dream?**

**Remember to let me know whether or not to carry on in the reviews. You don't even have to say anything at all, just let me know if you want me to post the next chapter. Thanks so much for reading XD**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again, readers! Thank you for the positive reviews XD This next chapter is split into two parts, just so you can see things from Sherlock's point of view as well. Remember that reviews equal quicker updates!**

**. . .**

**Scarlett**

Glistening raindrops clung to Scarlett's long, winter coat as she stood outside a place that really should not even exist. 221B Baker Street. Just as she had seen it on the telly so many times before. There was no Sherlock Holmes museum, no Conan Doyle fans in deerstalkers, excitedly taking photographs to show off back home. There was just a flat. And in that just a flat... should be the world's only consulting detective.

Despite this being a dream in her mind, Scarlett could not help but shiver at the thought of meeting him. Of course, he would hate her. She was a sassy teenager who didn't really take shit from anybody and she would be telling him off right from the start. But... it was all in her head. She could do anything and it wouldn't matter. Right?

Her pale, delicate index finger was about to press the doorbell when she realised something. This may be a dream but that would not stop her getting kicked out if he was anything like the character in the show. She did not have a case for him and therefore she was boring. Slowly, her hand lowered and she took a step back from the door.

Scarlett was starting to feel so very tiny again. She did not matter, especially not to Sherlock Holmes. She was just a kid in the eyes of society and no doubt a stupid one to the curly-haired detective. Why had she even come here? What the hell was she supposed to do next?

Biting her lip, she pondered upon it. Then it hit her. Quite literally. Scarlett Daniels was so lost in thought that she simply did not see the man hurtling towards her at such a speed that he was almost a blur. The man did not see HER either. He was looking the other way, at his pursuers. There was an almighty crash and a yelp of shock when he collided into the unsuspecting ginger, sending the both of them tumbling to the ground in a heap.

Stars appeared in Scarlett's vision and she could feel something trickling down her forehead. What... just happened? Everything was spinning. Everything was a mass of tangled red hair and crimson blood. She was trying to stand up but she simply couldn't. Which way was... Up? Where did the ground end and the sky start?

This unbearable disorientation finally ceased when a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder, steadying her. Though her ears were still ringing, Scarlett managed to work out the words being spoken to her.

"It's okay. Calm down and keep still. Don't worry, I'm a doctor."

A doctor? Doctor... who? An involuntary giggle escaped her mouth. To the kind man helping her, she must have seemed mad. A doctor, he says. What was she doing again? Where was she? That voice had sounded familiar. Why?

It spoke again but she couldn't make out what the words were this time. Some sort of... order. Then the gentle hand was gone and she started to fall once more, only to be caught by a different set of hands. Just as sturdy as the doctors but... not gentle. Steady and strong they were as they lifted her up. She hadn't even noticed that her eyes were closed until now. And she did not have the energy to open them again.

The last thing that Scarlett heard was the deep baritone of another extremely familiar voice. It was then that she blacked out.

**Sherlock**

Running and running and running and running. The chase was finally afoot. Sherlock Holmes had been investigating this case for almost a week now. It was a frustrating one. The killer always left messages next to his victims and somehow managed to scamper away before the detective could even get a glimpse of him. But not this time. Ohhh no, this time, he had him. Sherlock had been monitoring his patterns and habits and he had worked out how to skip one step ahead of the serial killer who left cryptic notes specifically for him. He had been waiting for the man, just a few blocks down from Baker Street. John Watson by his side and a can of pepper spray in his pocket.

The killer was quick, though. He would have to be to have avoided Sherlock for so long. He noticed the pair as they hid in the shadows and immediately started to sprint away, Holmes and Watson hot on his heels.

They had been running none stop, all the way to Baker Street and it was there that the inevitable happened. The idiot made the mistake of looking over his shoulder, checking whether or not he had gotten away when CRASH. At a dizzying speed, he had collided with a passerby and was crumpled in a heap, breathing heavily. Before he could even have a slight chance of attempting another getaway, Sherlock grabbed his collar and pinned him to the wall with a triumphant smirk on his lips.

"Well..." The detective barely managed to speak between breaths. "This has certainly been an entertaining afternoon."

One hand still holding the squirming man to the wall, Sherlock plucked his phone from his pocket and quickly dialled Lestrade's number. He preferred not to go through the utter tedium of the emergency service system; it completely lacked urgency, in his view.

In a rather bored tone, he recapped the DI about what had happened and told him to get over to Baker Street immediately. Then he simply hung up, not even waiting for a response before he did so.

"Sherlock."

His flatmate's voice cut straight through the haze of adrenaline. He knew that voice. Cool and collected. Authoritative yet calm. It was his doctor voice. Conclusion: The passerby was injured in the collision. Most likely a head injury due to the angle of said collision. Serious enough for John to want a look and yet not enough for passerby to need hospital treatment.

This all went through Sherlock's head in the same millisecond that it took for him to turn his head and speak.

"Need my help to carry your patient to the flat, Dr Watson?"

It was his cold attempt of humour. John simply raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"Yes. I'll hold... him there until Lestrade gets here. Get a first aid kit out and ready, she may have a serious concussion there. God, she's just a kid. Come on."

The army doctor took out his gun and pointed it at the man as Sherlock moved to do as he was told (halleluiah).

It seems that he was right about the head wound. Quite a deep gash at that, she must have hit the very edge of the pavement. Her eyes were beginning to flutter shut. A kid, yes. Sixteen or seventeen. Must still be in school. Sherlock would not have looked at her twice if it weren't for the hair. Long and bright and the colour of burnt amber. He vacantly wondered why she was wandering on her own in London before he remembered that he really did not care as it was irrelevant.

Easily, Sherlock scooped her up in his arms, causing tiny raindrops to drip down from her black coat. He managed to unlock the flat door with one hand before turning to John.

"She is unconscious; I do suggest that you be quick."

Then, with a swoosh of his trench coat, he dashed up the stairs, as fast as he could do with an injured girl in his arms. Little did he know that said girl would soon play a major part in what was to come. Little did he know... that she was an enigma in this world.

**. . .**

**I really enjoyed writing this chapter, it was fun. Hope you enjoyed reading it! Please pop me a review to let me know what you think. x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, lovely lot! We actually have Scarlett and Sherlock interaction here which is exciting! I really enjoyed writing this one as much as Scarlett enjoys talking to Sherlock Holmes (or at least nearly as much lol). These first few chapters are very much just setting the scene for I have a LOT of ideas for the direction in which this story is going. XD Asdfghjkl, I've never been so excited to write something before! I hope you guys are all enjoying it too as that means more to me than anything. If you enjoy my writing, then I must be doing SOMETHING right, yeah? Please drop me a review to let me know what you think!**

**. . .**

The first thing that Scarlett became aware of when she regained consciousness was the throbbing in her temple. This headache was like none she had ever experienced before, sending pulses of sharp pain across her forehead. What had happened?

She started to become more aware of her surroundings; twitching her fingers and shuffling a little. What was she lying on? It was not her bed... or any bed for that matter. In fact, the way her arm was drooped across the side, she guessed that she was currently lying on a sofa. Her eyes dared to squint open and a cold chill swirled its way down her spine. This was not her home. This was not HER sofa and that was not HER ceiling.

That wild imagination of hers started running at full capacity and the young girl came up with at least fifty possible scenarios on the spot. None of them were right, of course. For how could she have guessed what was going to happen next...

"Don't sit up fast, it will give you the most awful head rush."

A deep, velvety voice that held the tone of a bored man who had been left to count sheep completely cut through her panic ridden thoughts and made her sit bolt upright in a flash, despite the warning said voice had given her. Because... that was the voice of Benedict Cumberbatch. The actor that Scarlett so admired. His voice was unmistakeable.

The head rush was as awful as had been forewarned and it sent white spots flying across Scarlett's vision as she tried to get a clear glimpse at the man in the armchair who had just let out an exasperated sigh.

"No, I said DON'T. Ugh."

Scarlett could practically FEEL the eye roll in his words.

"Moron."

It was with that insult that the redhead finally managed to make out the figure before her. A mop of thick, curly, raven-black hair was upon his head. Skin as pale as her own, if not more so. Cheekbones that she was sure could cut through glass. Eyes sharper than the blade of a knife and more intricately coloured than any she had ever seen before. Cupid's bow lips that appeared to now be pursed in annoyance. A black tailored suit with a plum-purple shirt underneath.

And suddenly she knew where she was. That was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. She was in 221B Baker Street.

"You obviously recognise me." The detective tutted. "Tedious."

What words could Scarlett possibly even begin to form in that moment? Her mouth had gone dry as bone as it hung open, simply gaping. Her eyes looked like they were about to burst from their sockets. Anybody would assume that she'd just seen a ghost.

Sherlock's expression of annoyance and boredom quickly turned to one of confusion when the girl did not answer him in any way. It was curious, the way that she looked at him. He had met plenty of fans in his time and they had NEVER looked at him like this. This... was something new.

"Have I got something on my face?"

The tone was patronising but his eyes glinted with curiosity. That was when Scarlett snapped out of her dazed bewilderment only to burst into a fit of giggles. Well, Sherlock simply did not know what to do. For what does one do with a hysterical teenage girl other than chuck her out? And John had told him specifically NOT to do that before he'd left the flat.

"I... um."

He was feeling awkward. He didn't like feeling awkward and he especially did not like not know what was going on.

"Have I said something funny?"

Scarlett's laughter began to die down when it started to make her head throb all the more. She clutched her stomach, blinking through the tears of hysteria in her eyes.

"Funny? Ohhoho, noooo. Nothing funny. I'm just wondering why I haven't had a dream like this one BEFORE now!"

The young girl raised her fist up, punching the air.

"Way to go, subconscious!"

Good lord. Where the hell was a John when you needed one? He would surely know what to do, he was a doctor and this girl was clearly a mental case.

Sherlock breathed in deeply through his nose and then out through his mouth, going over what his flatmate had told him before he'd left to get some more medical supplies for the cupboard.

[Keep her calm.]

"Okay... Just... calm down. You're safe."

The words felt stiff and meaningless as they came off his tongue. Sherlock Holmes had never been one for comforting.

Scarlett snapped her head towards him once again, the mad little grin still plastered across her face.

"I know I'm safe. Because YOU are Sherlock Holmes and nooooooobody messes with the world's only consulting detective unless they want to end up locked in a room with Anderson. Oooo, I wouldn't like to see their IQ after THAT encounter."

Then the giggling returned.

The consulting detective stared at her, expressionlessly. The cogs in his head were turning as he looked her up and down. He had made the most elementary deductions about her whilst she had been asleep on his couch but then he just got bored and stopped. It seemed pointless to gather information about some unimportant young girl. But what she had just said... about Anderson and the implication of the decreasing IQ. How could she know that? HOW? She didn't matter, she wasn't important, certainly wasn't special. So... HOW?

"What's the matter, Holmes?"

Scarlett was leaning forward now, elbows balanced on her knees as she looked at him knowingly.

"Can't work me out?"

She waggled her eyebrows cheekily and Sherlock decided that she had become a little too overconfident for his taste. For the second time since the girl had woken up, he rolled his eyes rather dramatically.

"Do not flatter yourself, Little Miss Daniels. I know everything that I need to about you and even that is irrelevant."

Sherlock did not know what he expected to see cross her face. Surprise, maybe. Perhaps resentment or confusion. She may even have been impressed. But, no. In fact, he hadn't even managed to knock that smug smirk off her face.

"Oh? And what is it that you...know about me? Or rather, that you /noticed/ about me?"

Her eyes were now sparkling with challenge as they locked with Sherlock's. It was the detective's turn to smirk now. Time to put her in her place.

"Your name is Scarlett Daniels. Any old fool could tell that just from looking at that locket around your neck. You haven't taken it off in a very long while. Sentimental reasons, of course. The inscription: 'My Scarlett Daniels ~ Love from Daddy.' The only thing you have left of your father, am I right? After he was killed in Afghanistan, there wasn't much left. Then there's your mental health. As much as you try to hide it from the world around you, I can read everything very clearly with one look. The way the index finger on your right hand twitches is a very basic indicator of acute anxiety. Your outburst of hysteria earlier was further evidence to that. Those bags under your eyes that you have so desperately tried to cover with some sort of makeup clearly show that sleep is not something that comes easily. Anxiety and insomnia? Paranoia too, I bet. You never speak a word of your troubles to your mother OR your little brother. You do not wish to worry them. Lately, life has been boring you, mmm? That is why you ended up on my doorstep today. You wanted something interesting to happen. Well, careful what you wish for, Ms Daniels, or you may just get crashed into by a dangerous serial killer."

He completed his little monologue with a very fake smile, aimed at the young ginger girl. With that small glance, he tried to read her expression. This time, she did seem to be impressed. What surprised him was that she did not seem to have taken offense in any way. How odd. He had just revealed that he was aware of very personal details about her life that nobody else knew and she just seemed to shrug it off.

"Sister."

Scarlett said with another smug smile.

"What?"

She pressed her lips together, leaning back on the sofa, looking to all the world like a small child on Christmas Eve.

"I have a little sister, not a little brother."

Sherlock blinked at the nonchalant tone in her voice. Though he had impressed her and he could see that clear as day, she wasn't willing to admit to it. Why?

"There is always something. The gender of the siblings, I keep slipping up there. Hm. That all? No questions, slaps or otherwise inappropriate insults?"

The smile on Scarlett's face turned into a grin.

"I'm not going to tell you to piss off, if that's what you mean. But... I do have one question. How did you know it was Afghanistan?"

The detective was now starting to realise that this girl made very little sense. He could read her easily but her personality... made no sense. He was not an idiot; he knew that there was more to people than the things he deduced from his observations but the information was all that he usually cared about. Apart from with John, of course, because John's personality made him fit into Sherlock's life with ease. John did not get offended by his deductions... At least not most of the time. That is why he got along so well with the army doctor; he was the closest person to understand Sherlock Holmes.

"My flatmate, John. He has a watch of the very same brand, bought from a stall in Afghanistan. Obvious."

Scarlett nodded slowly, gently brushing a strand of auburn hair from her eyes. After a few moments, she spoke again in tone that had not been aimed at Sherlock since he was a child.

"It's a shame that people can't see past the hard shell that you have on the outside, you know? They call you a freak only because they don't understand you. It's so horribly human of them. As a species we... judge before we try. They judge you, not that you care. But... you deserve so much better. Because you're brilliant."

It was Sherlock's turn to let his jaw drop a fraction. This girl had only just met him! And he had not exactly been the most civil person to her. She did not need to say these things with such sincerity and yet... she had. Suddenly, he felt guilty for voicing his observations about her dead father and her mental troubles. HE... Sherlock Holmes, felt guilty. It had been so long since anybody had been so selflessly nice to him because he gave them no reason to be so.

And it was in that moment that Sherlock Holmes decided that he, at the very least, tolerated Scarlett Daniels.

**. . .**

**Special thanks to:**

**Rodent2000XD **

**Smiling Dreams**

**Xeres Malfoy**

**and Benedictlover **

**for reviewing, it really does mean the world to me.**

**OH. ON THE SUBJECT OF REVIEWS. From now on, any person that reviews will get a sneaky peak of the next chapter in their PM box. I couldn't get any cookies for you, so that's the best that I can do XD**

**Thanks again for reading! x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Reposting this because Fanfiction decided to chop the first paragraph off for some reason... Hello, readers! I apologise in advance for the shortness of this chapter, I just wanted the next part to be completely separate. And y'know I wanted to leave you in suspense XD Chapter five is a long one though, so I hope that makes up for it. Things are going to start getting dangerous rather soon...**

**. . .**

It was 3pm and Scarlett's mother was starting to worry. She had texted the young girl about four times now, asking when she planned on getting home and each text held a little more urgency. Scarlett answered very cryptically each time, saying that she 'wouldn't be long' but never giving an exact response. It was better that, she thought, than tell her mum the truth about the day's events. The now stitched up gash on her head would prove difficult to explain though. As she walked around 221B, Scarlett tried her best to come up with a plausible scenario.

The flat itself proved to be quite the distraction though. It was so incredibly detailed; she couldn't believe it. So many things lay about that had totally gone unnoticed on the television screen. She spent her time scanning the bookshelves in the living room, noting each individual book title, and running her fingers over the bullet marks in the wall, and simply staring at Sherlock's old 'friend' the skull who was still balanced on the mantelpiece.

As for the detective, he had not spoken a word to Scarlett since she had complimented him. It was like he didn't know WHAT to say, which really did make a change. It didn't need to be said out loud that the reason the redhead had not left yet was because John would most likely want to check up on her before she went. 'Discharge' her from his care, so to speak.

He should be back any minute and so Scarlett continued to wander the flat, taking it all in. She wanted to make the very most of this dream. Just as she started to explore the kitchen, Sherlock's voice cut through the deafening silence, making her start in surprise.

"Do not touch my experiments."

The corner of Scarlett's mouth lifted up in a half-smirk. Typical Sherlock. Her eyes scanned the kitchen table that was SUPPOSED to be used for eating at but instead had become a mini laboratory for the consulting detective. It really was fascinating. Chemicals all over the place, Petri dishes and a microscope; the works. She wasn't even surprised when she noticed a jar of pickled toes next to a Bunsen burner. It was no less than she had expected, really. In fact, it made her smirk grow even wider. The amount of times that she had wished to be in this place, to do what she was doing now... and here she was. Dream or not, this was fantastic.

It was then that the quiet vanished once again and was replaced with the sound of footfalls coming up the steps to the flat. John.

Scarlett shuffled back into the living room to see Sherlock lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. She braced herself to resist the urge to run at John Watson and give him a HUGE hug. It was something that she had always wanted to do, especially since his best friend faked his death. She loved his hilarious jumpers and his ability to go through about three women in a month and, most of all, she loved the way that he managed to live with a flatmate like Sherlock Holmes.

With carrier bags in hand and a very tired look upon his face, John Watson pushed the flat door open and blinked at the sight before him. He looked at Scarlett. Then at Sherlock. Then back to Scarlett again.

"/You/... should be the one resting, not him."

The teenager smiled warmly. So kind a man was Dr Watson. It was very hard not to instantly become attached to him.

"I'm fine."

"She's fine."

Both the detective and Scarlett spoke at the very same time before exchanging identical glances with each other. Then Scarlett smiled and shook her head.

"Honestly, I am fine, Dr Watson."

She walked purposely over to where he had dropped the bags on the floor and was now studying the young girl sceptically as she was being very careful to keep in a straight line with each step.

"Look! Fine! All thanks to you, of course, and your marvellous doctoring skills."

Flattery will get you everywhere. Scarlett was very much a schmoozer in the sense that she knew who to get on the right side of to get where she needed to be. And right now, she needed to be home. As much as she wished to stay and talk for hours on end with these two... frankly impossible men, her mother would throw and absolute fit if she wasn't back within an hour. She would probably send out a search party and Scarlett couldn't be dealing with that. Nor could the two flatmate's deal with kidnapping charges.

John was smiling at her now, clearly taken in by the compliment, whilst Sherlock just rolled his eyes. He, of course, saw what she wanted and spoke without looking at either of them.

"I do believe Ms Daniels has a home to be getting to and a mother to be scolded by. Let's not keep her here any longer than necessary, John, this is becoming tedious."

As badly worded as that was, Scarlett was grateful for the input. She could never be so rude as to get to the point like that; it was not how she was brought up. The army doctor was looking at her very apologetically now, a look that she had seen MANY times before on her screen at home. She waved him off with a flourish of her hand.

"It's fine, I've read your blog; I kind of guessed that he would be like this."

The lie came surprisingly easy to her and she couldn't help but glance at Sherlock to see if he had picked up on any giveaways in her voice. But he hadn't budged from his position on the sofa and was just looking as bored as ever.

Scarlett cleared her throat.

"But he is right. I do... need to go. My mum's panicking a bit."

The girl smiled nervously as John nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, I can imagine. Just..." he frowned, moving closer to her and examining the cut on her head. "Please keep that clean, right? Drink plenty of water and take painkillers for the headache. Should heal up in a couple of weeks; wasn't as deep as I first thought."

The urge to hug him was hard for Scarlett to resist and she only just managed not to give into temptation and swallow him in a bear hug, not sure how he would react to a hug from a teenage girl whom he did not know.

"Thank you, Dr Watson."

She began to pull her jacket back on and head towards the door, a pool of sadness welling up in her chest as she thought about leaving this place. At the door now, she turned back to the two men in the room, looking between both of them as she talked.

"Hey, you two."

Sherlock's eyebrow lifted lazily as he turned his head ever so slightly so that the ginger girl was in his line of vision.

"Keep... being brilliant, yeah? And... Take care."

Then, with a smile and a wave, Scarlett started her decent back to the street and the real world beyond. She felt... deflated. That was the only way to describe it. Or, like when you've had a really amazing caffeine buzz and then... it dies and you're left feeling... like a balloon that has had all the air sucked out of it. The thought occurred to her that she would never again meet Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. That she was going to wake up soon and never experience anything like it again. It only made her deflate further.

How very incorrect that particular thought was. For Scarlett's entry into the life of the two flatmate's had sparked something much bigger. A storm was coming. A storm that brought danger and death in its wake. And Scarlett Daniels was going to be right at the eye this storm. The part that she was to play was bigger than anyone could have imagined.

**. . .**

**DUN. DUN. DUUUUN. Thank you to all who are following this story, it really does mean a lot. I actually cannot wait to post the next chapter, it's my favourite so far XD Remember that not only do reviews equal quicker updates but that the reviewer themselves also gets a cheeky preview of the next chapter in their PM box. Thanks again for reading! Be seeing you soooooon!**

**OH.**

**PS ~ I am looking for a beta for this story and if anyone is interested, please pop me a PM. Ta!**


	5. Chapter 5

**HEY! I've had such a positive response to this story that I decided to post this chapter earlier than I had planned XD I enjoyed writing this one a lot and I hope you like reading it just as much. This early posting is proof that reviews equal faster updates (because you inspire me) so y'know, keep 'em coming, my darling readers! **

**. . .**

In truth, John Watson hadn't been very happy about letting the girl just leave like that. It would be getting dark soon and she was very young. He knew that he would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to her when she could have been safe in the flat. There was a connection that he had formed with the teenager after only a very short time; he felt protective over her. It didn't make any sense for he did not know anything about her... but there it was. And, of course, the fact that he had no way of knowing whether or not she had gotten home safely was a constant itch in the back of the army doctor's mind.

Sherlock really wasn't any help at all, as was to be expected. He dismissed the matter like he was brushing a speck of dust from his suit. When John had voiced his worries, the detective had waved him away, saying that paranoia was unbecoming and that the young girl was perfectly capable of looking after herself. He seemed so indifferent towards the subject that John had given up.

However, in reality, Sherlock Holmes was certainly far from indifferent. Where the girl was a cause of worry for John, she was an aura of intrigue to Holmes.

Scarlett Daniels. The girl who did not make sense.

She had had an extremely close encounter with a serial murder, consequently resulting in a head injury, and then had woken up from the murky unconsciousness only to find herself in a strange flat with a man that she had never met before. That was enough to cause any grown man to panic, never mind a girl as young as she was. And yet she had seemed more delighted than scared. Why? _Why_?

Sherlock was annoyed that he was even pondering upon it as she was of no use to him. But he couldn't help himself. He was dragged in by puzzles and mysteries and things that just... did not make sense. He wanted to unravel them and solve them. He was not ever satisfied with something that he did not understand. His thirst for knowledge was far too great to let anything go. At first he had assumed that the young girl was merely insane. But as he thought on it further, there was... something that he could not quite place his finger upon. Which was why, inconsequential as she was, Scarlett Daniels had not left the detective's mind when she left the flat. In fact, she lingered beside him. There was a cupboard under the stairs in his mind palace that was starting to fill with boxes labelled with her name. He would come back to them at some point. Maybe not for a while but he would definitely come back. And he _would_ work her out.

. . .

Scarlett was staring at the clock in her room.

11pm.

The rest of the house had finally fallen asleep after her mother's lecture. On the spot, she had made something up about falling down stone steps and hitting her head against an edge. Instead of being comforted, Scarlett had been yelled at.

"YOU SHOULD JUST LEARN TO BE MORE CAREFUL!"

The raised voices ceased when her mother had settled down. And now she was alone.

She was left with her thoughts.

Why had she not woken up yet? Dreams did not usually last this long... did they? Then again, dreams were not usually so vivid. Maybe this was just a special sort of dream. A silent wish, rather than the usual ramblings of her subconscious mind. The wish to live in the world of Sherlock Holmes; to join the excitement and the danger and to be part of their lives. The impossible wish that was on every fangirl's mind.

With an exasperated sigh, Scarlett buried herself beneath the duvet. Perhaps if she fell asleep in the dream then she would wake up in reality? Even if that theory were correct, she found it difficult to consider the possibility of sleep at that moment. Who in their right mind would be able to sleep after a day like the one she had had?

Her mind drifted to the conversation that she had shared with Sherlock Holmes. She thought about how he was so much taller than she had expected. She thought about the fact that he smelt faintly of violin resin and pine needle scented soap. She thought about the flat; the vast detail of it and the musty scent that seemed to settle all around. She thought about all the silent questions that had received answers today. The life and soul that could not be fully attained through a TV screen.

A smile graced Scarlett's lips. This may be some sort of wild dream but it was one that she would _never_ forget.

Just as she was beginning to settle down and close her eyes, a loud vibrating sound came from the table at her bedside. Her phone. Must be a text. But... she never got texts from people. Frowning, a dopily limp hand fumbled for the mobile and she squinted at the sudden, harsh light. It took a moment for her blue eyes to adjust but when they did a flood of butterflies started to swarm in her stomach at the words on the screen.

_'Stay away from Sherlock Holmes, little red. This game was not meant for children.'_

Little red. As in... Little red riding hood? The fairytale.

Fairytale.

[Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain.]

Suddenly she had no doubt in her mind about who had sent this text. She supposed that she really should not be so surprised. After all, the character of James Moriarty was her absolute favourite. If this was a dream about Sherlock Holmes then it would not be complete without the consulting criminal to balance everything out.

Despite the fact that Scarlett did not believe that any of this was real, she could not help the tingling fear that had started to crawl its way up her spine.

[The most dangerous criminal mind that the world has ever seen.]

And then she was typing a reply. Pressing send without even thinking about the possible consequences.

_'I'm not afraid of the big bad wolf. Or should I say that I am not afraid of some psychopathic leprechaun in a Westwood suit. I do hope that you did not get too much blood on said suit when you decidedly blew your brains out. It was a nice suit. I approved. :)'_

The text had been sent and there was no going back. She kept re-reading it, over and over again and each time she regretted it more. What the hell was she thinking? One does not simply taunt the criminal psychopath unless one wants to be turned into shoes.

All thoughts of sleepiness were sufficiently forgotten as the young ginger stared at her phone. She did not know what to expect. Some sort of terrible threat? But when the reply did come, it was worse than any threat. A threat can be dealt with. You can go and ask for help when somebody threatens you. This was different.

_'My precious pawn, you may be more useful than I previously thought. Sleep well, little red. x'_

With a kiss. A KISS. That could not be a good sign.

What had she _done?_

She flopped down onto the pillow with a groan. Yep. Scarlett Daniels was officially screwed.

. . .

Hiding in the shadows was becoming increasingly dull by the day for James Moriarty. He had many plans in motion, of course. Clients put through to him without knowing that they were talking to a supposed dead man. But it was all getting soooo boring. He wanted to come out and PLAY again.

It was when his greatest obsession, Sherlock Holmes, came out of hiding that he decided to start choreographing a new dance. Time to start pulling the strings of the web once more.

Whilst he was plotting the rules for this new game of his, he had thrown many distractions in the detective's path, to throw him off the scent. He did not wish for Sherlock to know that he was alive just yet. All in good time.

The most recent distraction had been a serial killer case that Moriarty had very quickly devised to keep Holmes distracted. Each victim was someone that a client of his wanted rid of. Two birds with one stone really. Far too easy.

He had really paid no attention to the progress of this particular case until the killer had been caught. Having hacked into the CCTV cameras in the comfort of his own home a very long time ago, James had a clear view of the scene unfolding before his eyes. The chase and the crash and the young girl with the flame red hair. She annoyed the consulting criminal. Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be distracted by things that he put in motion, not some worthless child.

However, the detective was his obsession and obsessions needed to be fully researched. Anyone who touched his life had to be catalogued and filed. It did not take him long to find out who the teenager was. Boring, as expected.

Scarlett Daniels. Seventeen years of age, attending a sixth form centre in Whitechapel. Telephone numbers, emails, blah blah blah, what a boring and dull existence.

Twiddling his mobile in his hands, Jim decided to add a little spice to the girl's life. After all, he was incredibly bored and had nothing else to do. Besides, he may come across some sort of worth within her. Only one way to find out.

With a yawn, the consulting criminal typed the text out and pressed send.

Within a matter of minutes, the phone bleeped to life with a reply.

He scanned the message with his eyes. Once. Twice. Three times. Eyebrows now raised, he looked back to his laptop screen, still open in front of him from his research of the girl. There was a picture of her in the centre. Laughing and happy and a rather traditional sort of beautiful. Her amber hair was cascading over her shoulders in loose waves and the blue of her eyes glinted in the evening sunlight.

What a pretty new pawn he had to play with.

A shiver of excitement and intrigue ran down Moriarty's spine as he typed in a response, grinning like the maniac he was.

Oooooo, this was going to be _fun._

**. . .**

**Ahhhhaaaa. So the game begins XD Queries and questions and constructive criticisms are most welcome in the reviews and you know by now that you get a sneaky peak of the next chapter in your PMs too! **

**Moriarty is such a glorious character and I simply cannot wait until he starts spinning his webs of criminal mischief again. But who will win this time? Well... I know, of course. But shhhh, spoilers. **

**Thanks again to all who review, you are my light in the dark tunnel of writer's block. x**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey, guys. I am so very sorry for the long wait with this chapter but all hell has kinda broken loose in my life. Not only have I been busy with Christmas etc but my boyfriend and I just split up and we have been going out for a long time so I have no exactly felt up to writing things lately. So sorry about that. Wanted to post this before New Year though. Hope you all had a lovely Christmas. Reviews would cheer me up a lot. Thanks. x**

**. . .**

Scarlett had not slept. She had tossed and turned and willed her eyes to close but her mind would just not shut down. It was morning now. Her mother had gone to work and her little sister was off at a friend's house and, once again, the redhead was left alone with her over active imagination and increasingly distressing anxiety.

She kept telling herself that it was just a dream but if things kept going the way that they were, it would very rapidly turn into a horrible nightmare. A nightmare that she did not wish to have.

Pacing her room, backwards and forwards, she was at a loss of what to do.

The first thought that came to mind was to go and tell Sherlock about the texts. He would want to know that Moriarty was alive and that he was planning some new and twisted game. But then... How could she possibly explain the reasoning behind what she had said to the criminal mastermind in her reply? She knew things that were impossible for her to know and she really did not want Sherlock Holmes thinking she was some sort of spy because she quite fancied not being chucked out a window at any time soon.

Doing a loop of her room for what seemed like the thousandth time, Scarlett's thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt when the sound of the doorbell cut through the silence.

Her blood turned cold.

Who was it? An assassin? Had Moriarty sent someone to kill her? She shook her head to clear those disturbing thoughts away. What kind of assassins rang the doorbell? Peering through the blinds, Scarlett let out a small sigh of relief when she saw who was standing at her doorstep.

The long trench coat and mess of curly, black hair was an immediate giveaway. Sherlock Holmes. Ringing her... doorbell. Then she started to think upon that. Because why would the consulting detective want to speak with her? She meant nothing to him. Unless... somehow he knew about the texts that had been exchanged between herself and Moriarty last night.

The relief was replaced with panic. She was taking deep breaths now, trying to calm herself down and think of some plausible reason for him to be at her door.

Another ring. More impatient this time; clearly he was getting annoyed with standing out in the cold and waiting for a teenager of all people.

Scarlett found herself running down the stairs and grabbing the keys even though she still had no idea what she was going to say to this man, to this fictional character who wished to speak with her for some reason. With a click, the door was unlocked and she opened it. The cold instantly biting into her skin and causing goosebumps to form from head to toe. Her red knitted jumper and jeans clearly weren't enough for this weather.

Before she even had a chance to get a word in, the detective had stepped through her doorway and strode purposefully down the hall and into the kitchen where he was now pacing.

As much as Scarlett wanted to say something witty about him simply walking into her home without an invite, she knew better than to protest when he was in a determined mood. Which he clearly was if the expression on his face was anything to go by. As the young girl followed him into the kitchen, she took in his features. His mouth was set in a thin line, eyes completely focused as he scanned the room before finally locking his gaze on her.

Those eyes. They were beautiful eyes. She had often admired how sharp and focused they seemed to constantly be. But they had never scared her before. They scared her now as they bore into her own. She felt as if he were seeing into her very soul and it made her legs feel slightly wobbly. Trying to come across as nonchalant, Scarlett leaned on the kitchen counter, raising a brow.

"Problem, Holmes?"

If anything, her tone of voice only made Sherlock's expression harden.

"Yes. You."

So low and dangerous were the words that left his lips that Scarlett actually had to break off their staring match and look at the floor, pursing her lips.

"Not... Quite following. You're going to have to elaborate."

Strange how calm her voice was when in reality her insides had practically turned to jelly by now as she saw this man that she thought she knew in a new light. Many times she had seen his expression dark and angry like it was at that moment. She had always been awed by it. Now it just made her feel frightened.

"What do you know of Moriarty, Ms Daniels?"

That made her head snap up to look at him. Try as she might, there was no way she was going to be able to hide the recognition that flashed across her face at the name. Sherlock saw it immediately and those icy eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to her, totally invading her personal space now.

"I knew there was something. Something... Something else. Something that I was missing." He muttered so quietly that Scarlett could only just hear. "There's something about you that doesn't fit. It isn't right. You don't make sense. It was bothering me and I couldn't work out why because... you are not important in any way. You can't possibly be, your life is so ordinary. What do you know?"

Scarlett hadn't realised that she had been stepping away from the consulting detective until her back hit the sink and she let out a small gasp of surprise. It made her snap out of the nervous haze surrounding her and she cleared her throat before answering.

"Moriarty. He was on trial for attempting to steal the Crown Jewels. He was set free and... He was the one that convinced the world you were a fraud. I... Don't know anything else."

Liar, liar, liar. She had never been very good at lying when she was in this sort of state. And that was besides the fact that lying to Sherlock Holmes was as pointless as trying to swim with no limbs. This was proven when he huffed in obvious agitation and annoyance, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his mobile phone, unlocking it before showing Scarlett the screen.

'It seems that little red knows more than she's letting on. I wouldn't let her slip through your fingers, Sherlock. -JM x'

Scarlett found herself scanning the words over and over, each time biting down on her bottom lip a little harder, to the point that it was almost bleeding.

What was she going to do?

"You received a text too." Holmes' words were not a question and yet she nodded anyway. "Let me see."

Numbly, Scarlett handed over her phone, her glazed over eyes staring at the wall behind Sherlock.

It took a while before he spoke again but when he did, his voice wasn't so sure and steady. It was confused. A tone that was not familiar upon the curly-haired man's tongue.

"You... How... How do you know that? All of that?"

Scarlett finally managed to bring her gaze back to meet his. She found that his face now matched his tone. It was softer. Frowning. Confused. And very, very curious. But it was not threatening and it did not scare her.

"The same way that I know it was John who shot the cabbie. The same way that I know you saved Irene Adler in Karachi. The same way that I know you have a brother who has an umbrella fetish and eats cupcakes beyond the guidelines of his dietary scheme."

That last one made Sherlock smirk a little. Only for a second, but she definitely saw it.

"Well... Miss Scarlett," the detective chucked her phone back. "It seems like you are quite the mystery; knowing things that you cannot possibly know. And mysteries are my speciality. I shall quite enjoy working this one out, I think. Come."

And with that (and a swoosh of that long trench coat) he is heading back to the door without a single second of hesitation.

Scarlett didn't know where to put herself. Quickly, she grabbed her coat and ran after him shouting.

"Wait! Where are we going?!"

Stopping in the doorway, Holmes spun around to face her, a new look of excitement upon his face.

"Oh Scarlett, do keep up. Moriarty is alive, as I did predict a long while ago, and there is a new game afoot. Clearly he has made you a part of it, which I am not very surprised about considering that frankly foolish text you sent him last night. I am not letting you out of my sight until I have beaten him. Now, come."

His excitement must have been catching because Scarlett was starting to feel it too. Despite the fact that this was extremely dangerous, it was also quite exhilarating. She felt as though she were actually in an episode of Sherlock. Seeing the battleground of London. The thought brought a fluttering feeling to her stomach. As for Sherlock Holmes paying so much interest in her, well... That was another matter entirely. She had never been anyone important. She had always felt so small and yet here she was and one of her favourite fictional characters was 'not letting her out of his sight'. True, he was not taking an interest in her because she was clever or anything like that but it didn't really matter. She was a puzzle to solve and Holmes could never resist a good puzzle.

By the time the two of them slid into a cab, she was grinning like a complete fool which only made Sherlock frown.

"What?" He asked. "What is it?"

That strange hysteric giggle that had escaped when she was in 221B made another appearance.

"Nothing. Just... Y'know this could technically count as kidnapping, right?"

In response to this, the detective tilted his head, lips pursed.

"Hardly. You are coming willingly, I have not taken you by force. Although I would very much like to avoid a confrontation with your decidedly early-menopausal mother so if you could..." He waved his hand dismissively. "Tell her that you're staying at a... Friend's or something, that would be convenient."

Scarlett's jaw dropped. She wanted to burst out laughing at his description of her mother. It might even be true with the way she had been acting recently. Instead of laughing though, she just shook her head.

"I'm not staying with you at night, I'll have to go-"

"No." Sherlock interrupted her before she could have a chance to try and convince him. "You won't. Didn't you hear the 'not letting you out of my sight bit', Little Miss Scarlett? Dear me, you may need a hearing test as well as a mental diagnoses."

The young ginger glared at him for that but stopped when she saw a flash of... Was that guilt? She dismissed that. Sherlock Holmes did not feel guilt because he did not care about hurting people's feelings. She must have been imagining it.

"Careful, Holmes." Scarlett's voice was rather smug as she raised her brows at him. "You're making it sound like you enjoy having me around."

Slowly, Sherlock turned his head to look at her, eyes dancing.

"How silly of me. Do try not to mistake me thirst for knowledge as some sort of fondness. In fact, I must say that I find you rather irritating and shall be glad to get rid of you once this game is over. But... until then, I shall just have to find it within me to tolerate you."

**. . .**

**Hope you enjoyed that one. Sherlock's a little shit really, with no sense of anything but the game. He really thinks it's just that easy to take Scarlett from her home like that buuuut... he is going to encounter a few problems, as you can probably imagine. **

**Regarding his attachment to her, at the moment it is merely intrigue. He does not care about her; she is merely another puzzle piece to him. **

**Also, one more note. I have decided to change an aspect of this story. I think that I want it to be as canon as possible regarding the TV series plot for series three and therefore I think that I am going to have John living with Mary. I just want it to remain canon even after series three has aired, that's all. But yeah, don't worry you will still be seeing John an awful lot because he is still solving cases with Sherlock whenever he can. And now that Moriarty's involved, he won't exactly just be watching from the sidelines. XD**

**Again, sorry for the wait. Please don't hate me. BUT PLEASE DO REVIEW!**


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